really my brain mapping/fretting out my week. dreaming about outrigging/safety and where the heck I will put my tool trunk for transport. gosh I haven't even finished yet; i haven't fully dreamt her into fruition and I really just got into my rhythm. perhaps I should just quit my job and residency hop for a year or two. bahahaaa. don't tell my dad that thought even ran through my noggin. oh that would be so fiscally responsible! but hey, I only had a rough idea upon arrival and it wasn't even the work I'd intended, but after a smidge of meandering and soaking in the here, it jelled. schnap! i am rather pleased with it and what i've been learning. residency hopping would mean releasing hold of my tubular tendencies as they don't go well with vagabonding. there is the Dopt to consider.
hmmm 4-5 options for 2013-2014--(1) keep doing what I am doing where I am, (2) uproot, venture out and do it somewhere else, (3-4) plunge into a creative writing mfa/phd or visual phd to explore the juncture between making and writing because there is definitely one and I find it fascinating, learn to harness, direct and do something with my writing (plus still making), or (5) residency hop (well my fiscal self probably will nix that but it is an interesting thought rolling in my head. not a good sign that there is actually room up here for it to roll...). solution. seriously knock on the doors (apply) of each this fall and see what doors open and then go through just one.
my dad's 80 and still working (by choice), which means possibly 30 more years, mom's 76, 26 more years, my gram's adventure went to 99 with only the last 4 days not perky and sprie, that gives me, 49 years and many of my great great grandparents went into their 90s. so I should at least future cast my heart into the next ten. gosh, twenty-six to forty-nine more years is living a whole other lifetime. I'd say at a different pace (being aged and all), but I've always been slow (not in a bad way). I've just never been interested in passing through my own life like a thrown stone. I saunter and meander. I take my time. when i remember to pull my head out of my head, i hear the blue, see the hummm, balance the thought, touch the moon, taste the rain, am seduced by the senses. I've no ladder I'd like to climb and certainly no one I want to step on to get there. I like gentle surprises that move me out of my assumeds. so many doors have opened of their own accord before me, many a meander, and I've actually not practiced future casting, I've just enjoyed my ride (not in a lazy way). but what would happen if I cast with an inkling of intent, pressed the peddle, pounded the door? normal change, well change NEVER feels normal, comes when i feel so squeezed i seem to have no choice but to shift. i want choice and i feel the squeeze already coming. I want to proact not react (which is already a bit late). in another vein, meander, door, line (mixing a multiplying my metaphors. dang), and obvious to me, yet always unspoken, unposted till now, because of its incredible tenderness and oversensitivity, is the desire of inhabiting (joining) or building of a new tribe, one that doesn't "shrink back," a pod, a we.
so I feel i need to tie my flies and fling the line out, see which doors they may drop into or snag open. obviously I could get squished dead while dangling over the forest floor or trip and bang my head even today but that's not worth planning for and I've decided, at this very moment, to stop planning for MS, Parkinson's, and/or Alzheimer's (I couldn't possibly save enough anyway to dent any of those) which have played out alongside some of the longevity in my family. worry wart I am. worry worry. but I'd like to change that and focus on future casting vs future fearing.
this is clearly going to take some editing of mind and metaphor.
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